Chapter 2 - THE EMPTY BLUE BABY COOLER
THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME SERVE HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER WITH MILK SOAKING THROUGH MY BLACK MAID'S UNIFORM AND AN EMPTY BLUE BABY COOLER CLUTCHED AGAINST MY CHEST—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE SPILLED THE MILK SHE WAS TAKING TO THE NICU,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY I WAS CRYING.
“Sarah?”
Luca Moretti stopped halfway through his engagement toast.
I stood beside the dining table, holding a silver tray with one hand and a small blue insulated bag with the other.
My uniform was damp.
My eyes were swollen from crying.
And the three little bottles I'd spent all afternoon filling were gone.
Twenty-six guests turned toward me beneath the chandeliers.
“Sarah, what's happened?”
Before I could answer, Vanessa Bellini gave an embarrassed laugh.
“Oh, darling, she spilled the breast milk she was taking to the NICU. I told her she should have been more careful with those bottles.”
Luca slowly lowered his champagne glass.
“The NICU?”
“Yes. Her baby's in the hospital.”
He looked back at me.
Then at the empty cooler.
“Sarah, did you drop something?”
My throat tightened.
Because Vanessa had just mentioned the hospital where my six-week-old son was fighting to get strong enough to come home.
And she knew perfectly well I hadn't dropped those bottles.
She'd taken them herself.
My name is Sarah Mitchell.
I was twenty-eight, worked as a housemaid at the Moretti estate, and had returned to work three weeks earlier than I'd planned.
My son, Owen, was born ten weeks premature.
He weighed three pounds, two ounces.
The first time I saw him, he was lying beneath a warming light with tiny tubes beside his face.
His hands were so small that one of my fingers covered his entire palm.
I remember standing beside his hospital bed, afraid to touch him.
Then a nurse named Patricia gently took my hand.
“Go ahead, Mama. He knows you're here.”
I slipped one finger into his tiny hand.
And Owen wrapped his fingers around it.
I cried so hard I couldn't speak.
For six weeks, I watched other mothers carry their babies home.
I smiled for them.
I really did.
But every evening, I left the hospital carrying an empty baby blanket.
And every morning, I went back.
Owen was getting stronger.
The doctors were encouraged.
But he still needed help feeding, and I was expressing breast milk for the nurses to give him.
It was one of the few things I could do for him while he remained in the hospital.
So I pumped before work.
During my breaks.
And again before leaving.
Then I delivered the bottles to the hospital every evening.
My husband had walked out when I was four months pregnant.
He said he wasn't ready to be a father.
I hadn't heard from him since.
My mother helped whenever she could, but she lived two hours away and was still working part-time.
So when my unpaid leave ran out, I returned to the Moretti mansion.
I needed the money.
Hospital parking alone was costing more than I'd expected.
And I still had to keep our apartment ready for the day Owen finally came home.
That morning, I'd arrived at seven.
Mrs. Carter, our head housekeeper, had arranged for me to take short breaks in the staff sitting room.
Luca had personally approved them.
He'd even asked the maintenance staff to check the small refrigerator where I kept my milk.
“Make sure it stays cold,” he'd told them.
At the time, I hadn't known he'd said that.
I only knew that someone in that enormous mansion had made a place for me to take care of my baby.
And I was grateful.
At three thirty, I finished another pumping session.
I labeled the bottles.
Placed them carefully inside my blue insulated bag.
Then returned it to the staff refrigerator.
Three bottles.
Each one marked with Owen's name.
I checked the zipper twice.
Those bottles represented nearly forty minutes of sitting alone, looking at pictures of my son while a machine hummed beside me.
I was exhausted.
But when I imagined Owen being fed that evening, I felt as though I was doing something right.
At four fifteen, Vanessa entered the staff sitting room.
She was wearing a fitted red silk gown and diamond earrings.
Her eyes immediately moved toward the refrigerator.
“What's that blue bag?”
I looked up.
“My baby's milk, ma'am.”
She frowned.
“You're storing breast milk in the house?”
“Yes. Mr. Moretti approved it.”
Her expression tightened.
“Well, I certainly didn't.”
I swallowed.
“There's a separate refrigerator for the staff.”
“I can see that.”
She opened it.
Then stared at the three little bottles inside my bag.
“Sarah, this is completely inappropriate.”
My stomach tightened.
“Ma'am?”
“We're having an engagement dinner. The caterers are going to be coming through here all evening.”
I looked toward the kitchen.
“This refrigerator isn't used for catering.”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“That's not the point.”
I said nothing.
She glanced at the labels.
“Your baby is still in the hospital?”
I nodded.
“Yes, ma'am.”
“How long has it been?”
“Six weeks.”
She gave a small sigh.
“And you're still doing all this?”
I looked down.
“He was born early.”
“Yes, I know. But surely the hospital can feed him without you constantly bringing bottles.”
I swallowed.
“They can. But his nurses asked me to keep bringing my milk if I'm able.”
Vanessa looked irritated.
“Sarah, I can't have the staff disappearing every few hours because they have personal problems.”
I stared at her.
“I'm only taking the breaks Mr. Moretti approved.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Luca doesn't need to know every little detail about the housekeeping schedule.”
I lowered my eyes.
“Yes, ma'am.”
She reached into the refrigerator.
“I'm moving this.”
My heart started pounding.
“Please, Miss Bellini. It needs to stay cold.”
“I know how a refrigerator works.”
She lifted the bag.
I stepped forward.
“May I take it?”
Vanessa turned sharply.
“Sarah, stop hovering.”
She walked toward the catering area.
I followed.
“Miss Bellini, please. I need to bring it to the hospital after my shift.”
She stopped beside the champagne station.
Then looked at me.
“Your shift ends when the guests leave.”
My stomach dropped.
“I'm supposed to leave at seven.”
“Not tonight.”
I swallowed.
“The hospital expects me.”
Vanessa gave an impatient laugh.
“Sarah, your baby isn't going anywhere.”
The words hurt more than I expected.
Because that was exactly what I wanted.
I wanted Owen to go somewhere.
Home.
To his little crib.
To the room I'd painted pale yellow before he was born.
I wanted to wake up to him crying.
To complain about being tired.
To have the ordinary problems other new mothers had.
Instead, I was standing in a wealthy woman's kitchen, begging her not to take away my baby's milk.
“Please, ma'am.”
Vanessa's expression hardened.
“Go finish the place settings.”
I looked at the cooler.
“Could I put it back in the refrigerator first?”
“Sarah.”
Her voice dropped.
“If you want to keep this job, stop arguing with me.”
I stood there.
My heart pounding.
Then slowly returned to work.
At five thirty, I went back for the cooler.
It wasn't in the refrigerator.
I checked the shelves.
The staff sitting room.
The pantry.
Nothing.
Then I saw Vanessa near the champagne station.
My blue bag was sitting beside her.
The zipper was open.
I hurried toward it.
“Miss Bellini?”
She looked annoyed.
“What now?”
“Where are the bottles?”
She glanced at the bag.
“Oh. Those.”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes.”
She shrugged.
“I had them moved.”
“Moved where?”
She nodded toward the large stainless-steel sink.
My heart dropped.
Inside were three empty plastic bottles.
Owen's name was still written on each label.
I stared at them.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Then I looked at Vanessa.
“Where's the milk?”
She sighed.
“Sarah, the bottles weren't properly stored.”
I couldn't breathe.
“They were in the refrigerator.”
“They were taking up space.”
I stared at her.
“Did you pour it out?”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“I wasn't going to risk having improperly handled milk sitting around during my engagement dinner.”
My eyes immediately filled.
“Please tell me you didn't.”
She looked away.
“It's already done.”
I gripped the edge of the sink.
My knees felt weak.
Three bottles.
An entire afternoon.
Gone.
I know it sounds ridiculous to cry over something I could produce again.
But those bottles were for my baby.
The little boy I'd only held against my chest four times since he was born.
The little boy who was supposed to be sleeping beside me instead of beneath hospital lights.
And someone had poured his milk down a kitchen drain because she didn't want a blue cooler in her house.
I began crying.
Vanessa sighed.
“For heaven's sake, Sarah.”
I couldn't stop.
“Please. I worked so hard for that.”
She stepped closer.
“Then make more tomorrow.”
The words came out so casually that I stared at her.
She looked at the clock.
“And clean yourself up. Dinner starts in an hour.”
I reached for the bottles.
My hands were shaking.
One slipped against the wet sink.
I caught it, but the remaining milk splashed across my black uniform.
Vanessa stepped back.
“Oh, wonderful.”
I started wiping my dress.
She shook her head.
“Look at the state of you.”
I couldn't speak.
Then she leaned closer.
“If Luca asks, you spilled the milk yourself.”
My stomach tightened.
“Miss Bellini—”
“And don't mention the hospital. I don't need him thinking I'm being cruel because you can't manage your personal life.”
I stared at her.
She smiled coldly.
“Remember who controls the staff schedule.”
Then she walked away.
I stayed beside the sink for several minutes.
Crying quietly.
Finally, I rinsed the empty bottles.
Placed them back in my cooler.
And tried to dry my uniform.
But the stain remained.
And there wasn't enough time to change.
At six forty-five, Mrs. Carter found me in the kitchen.
“Sarah, Mr. Moretti needs more champagne.”
I nodded.
“Yes, ma'am.”
She looked at my face.
“Sweetheart, have you been crying?”
I shook my head.
“Just a long day.”
She touched my shoulder.
“You look exhausted.”
I forced a smile.
“I'm okay.”
But I wasn't.
And now, standing beside Luca Moretti's engagement table, I couldn't stop trembling.
He was thirty-eight.
Dark swept-back hair.
Light stubble.
A black three-piece suit and black open-collar shirt.
Visible tattoos covered his hands and climbed along his neck.
He looked at the blue cooler.
Then at my damp uniform.
“Sarah, where were you supposed to be at seven?”
My heart started pounding.
“At the hospital, sir.”
Vanessa immediately spoke.
“She was told we needed extra help tonight.”
Luca slowly turned toward her.
“Who told her?”
“I did.”
He looked back at me.
“Sarah, did you ask to stay?”
I stared at the tablecloth.
Vanessa was watching.
I thought about my rent.
The hospital bills.
And the little yellow nursery waiting for Owen.
“No, sir.”
My voice was barely audible.
Luca studied my face.
“Then why are you still here?”
My eyes filled.
“Miss Bellini said I had to finish dinner service.”
Vanessa sighed.
“Luca, the staff have responsibilities.”
He didn't look at her.
“Sarah, where's the milk you were taking to your baby?”
I couldn't answer.
My chin started trembling.
Luca noticed.
He gently took the silver tray from my hands.
“Sarah?”
I swallowed.
“It's gone, sir.”
His expression changed.
“Gone?”
I nodded.
“Somebody poured it out.”
The room became silent.
Vanessa immediately laughed.
“She spilled it herself beside the champagne station. I told her to be more careful.”
Luca slowly turned.
“Beside the champagne station?”
“Yes.”
“Why was her baby's milk there?”
Vanessa blinked.
“What?”
“Sarah had permission to keep it in the staff refrigerator.”
He glanced toward my cooler.
“Who moved it?”
Vanessa looked annoyed.
“I did. We needed the space.”
Luca studied her.
“Space in a refrigerator the catering company doesn't use?”
She said nothing.
He looked back at me.
“Sarah, did you move those bottles?”
I shook my head.
“No, sir.”
“Did you spill them?”
My eyes filled.
“No.”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“Oh, honestly, Luca. It's milk. She can make more.”
Something changed in his expression.
He looked at his fiancée.
Then at the empty cooler.
“Vanessa, did you throw away milk intended for a premature baby?”
She hesitated.
“I was trying to maintain proper hygiene.”
Luca became very still.
“Was there something wrong with it?”
Vanessa looked away.
“I don't know.”
“Did anyone tell you it was unsafe?”
“No.”
“Then why did you pour it out?”
She didn't answer.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then I whispered, “I just wanted to bring something to my son.”
Luca turned immediately.
I tried to stop crying.
But the words kept coming.
“He's six weeks old, sir.”
My voice broke.
“And I've only held him four times.”
The dining room went completely quiet.
I looked down at the cooler.
“Every night I leave him there. And I keep thinking that if I can just bring him his milk, at least he'll know his mommy is trying.”
I covered my mouth.
“I'm sorry.”
I couldn't stop crying.
Luca immediately stepped toward me.
“Sarah, don't apologize.”
He gently guided me into an empty chair.
Then crouched so we were at eye level.
“Look at me.”
I raised my eyes.
“Your little boy is not going to lose his mother because she has to work.”
My chin trembled.
“You understand?”
I nodded.
He swallowed.
Then his voice softened.
“And you don't have to earn the right to love your son.”
I started crying harder.
Luca reached for a clean napkin.
He handed it to me.
Then turned toward his head of security.
“Daniel.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Bring the car around. Sarah needs to get to the hospital.”
Vanessa gave an irritated sigh.
“Luca, we're in the middle of our engagement dinner.”
He slowly stood.
“And she's trying to get to her baby.”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“The hospital has nurses.”
Luca looked directly at her.
“Yes.”
His voice hardened.
“And Owen has a mother.”
Nobody spoke.
Then he turned toward Mrs. Carter.
“Sarah is taking tomorrow off. Paid.”
My eyes widened.
“Mr. Moretti, I can't afford—”
“You'll receive your full wages.”
He looked back at Vanessa.
“And nobody is interfering with her breaks again.”
Vanessa's face flushed.
“Luca, you can't rearrange the entire household around one employee's baby.”
He stared at her.
“I'm not rearranging anything.”
He glanced toward my empty cooler.
“I'm making sure a mother can feed her child without being punished for it.”
At the far end of the table, Teresa Moretti slowly stood.
Luca's seventy-eight-year-old mother had been listening quietly.
She approached me.
Then gently placed her pale-blue shawl around my shoulders.
“Sarah, sweetheart?”
I looked up.
“Yes, Mrs. Moretti?”
She took my hand.
“When Luca was a baby, his father worked nights and I cleaned houses during the day.”
Her eyes filled.
“Sometimes I was so tired I couldn't remember when I'd last eaten.”
She glanced toward her son.
“But I never forgot how it felt to leave my little boy with someone else.”
Luca looked down.
Teresa squeezed my hand.
“You're doing the best you can, sweetheart.”
My chin trembled.
“I just want him home.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
Then she whispered something that made me cry again.
“And when he finally comes home, you don't have to be brave every minute. You can just be his mama.”
Luca turned away briefly.
When he looked back, his eyes were wet.
Then he faced Vanessa.
“Where's Sarah's phone?”
Vanessa blinked.
“What?”
“Mrs. Carter told me you had the staff put their phones away before dinner.”
Vanessa shrugged.
“They were distracting everyone.”
“Where are they?”
“In the upstairs sitting room.”
Luca looked toward me.
“Sarah, have you spoken to the hospital since this afternoon?”
I shook my head.
“No, sir.”
“When was the last time?”
“Before my shift started.”
His expression changed.
“You haven't checked on Owen all day?”
I swallowed.
“I was going to call during my break.”
Vanessa immediately interrupted.
“She wasn't supposed to be using her phone during work.”
Luca slowly turned toward her.
“Her six-week-old son is in intensive care.”
Vanessa looked away.
He took one step closer.
“And you stopped her from checking on him?”
She didn't answer.
For several seconds, Luca stared at her.
Then he said quietly, “Vanessa, I need you to understand something.”
She looked up.
“Being powerful doesn't mean deciding which people deserve compassion.”
Her face tightened.
“It means having the ability to help when someone needs it.”
He glanced toward me.
“And choosing to.”
Then he turned toward Daniel.
“Get Sarah's phone.”
Daniel hurried upstairs.
Vanessa looked furious.
“Luca, you're humiliating me in front of our guests.”
He looked at her.
“No.”
His voice remained steady.
“You humiliated a mother in front of our guests because she wanted to care for her baby.”
Nobody spoke.
“And you knew exactly how frightened she already was.”
Vanessa's eyes filled with angry tears.
“Luca, this is our engagement dinner.”
He stared at her.
Then quietly removed the ring box from beside his plate.
He closed it.
“Not anymore.”
Her face went white.
“What?”
Luca looked toward the empty blue cooler.
Then at the woman he'd planned to marry.
“I can't build a family with someone who thinks another woman's family doesn't matter.”
For the first time that evening, Vanessa had nothing to say.
I sat beside Teresa, trying to steady my breathing.
The older woman kept holding my hand.
Then Daniel returned.
He was carrying my phone.
“Miss Mitchell?”
I looked up.
He hesitated.
“I think you need to see this.”
My stomach tightened.
“What's wrong?”
He handed me the phone.
The screen showed seven missed calls.
All from the hospital.
My heart started pounding.
Seven.
I'd never missed seven calls from the NICU.
I looked at Luca.
“Sir?”
He was beside me immediately.
“Sarah, what's wrong?”
I couldn't speak.
My fingers were shaking too badly to unlock the screen.
Luca gently steadied my hand.
“Call them.”
I pressed the number.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Then a woman answered.
“Neonatal intensive care. This is Patricia.”
My breath caught.
“Patricia? It's Sarah. Owen's mom.”
There was a pause.
“Sarah?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, honey. We've been trying to reach you all evening.”
My heart seemed to stop.
“Is Owen okay?”
Another pause.
Then Patricia said, “He's with the doctor right now.”
I started shaking.
“What's happened?”
“Sarah, can you come to the hospital?”
Tears filled my eyes.
“I'm coming. I'm leaving right now.”
Luca was already reaching for his jacket.
“I'll drive you.”
But before I could stand, Patricia said something that made me freeze.
“Sarah, there's one thing we need to clear up before you arrive.”
I swallowed.
“What?”
She hesitated.
“We received a call earlier this evening from a woman who said she was authorized to speak for you.”
My stomach dropped.
“Authorized?”
“Yes. She told us you were unavailable and asked that we stop calling your phone.”
I stared at Luca.
He slowly looked toward Vanessa.
Patricia continued.
“We didn't make any changes based on that call. But we need to know who she was.”
I couldn't breathe.
Because I'd never authorized anyone to speak for me.
And when I looked across the dining room, Vanessa Bellini was already reaching for her evening purse.
Luca noticed.
His expression hardened.
“Vanessa.”
She stopped.
He took one slow step toward her.
“Who called Sarah's son's hospital?”
For the first time all evening, she looked genuinely frightened.
And the next words from the nurse made every person in that room go silent.
“Sarah, whoever she was, she knew your son's full name, his room number, and the private password you gave us when he was admitted.”
I gripped the phone.
Because only three people knew that password.
My mother.
May you like
Me.
And the woman who'd insisted on looking through my employee emergency-contact information that very afternoon.
